


Perfectly Predictable Proposal

by Psychopersonified



Series: Where was the wooing? [6]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, Humour, M/M, but generally unacknowledged, pretend we're cool, proposal, unacknowledged proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychopersonified/pseuds/Psychopersonified
Summary: Yes, it's a proposal fic. The way I think how it might go down between two people who have been dating for ages secretly.Who is better at keeping casual and cool and generally above it all?
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Where was the wooing? [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1698100
Comments: 19
Kudos: 137





	Perfectly Predictable Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> A quick little fic since I'm suddenly feeling motivated today. :)

What a year it has been. Plenty of unexpected personal firsts due to unprecedented global events. Critics might give the year a harsh review but it wasn’t without its silver lining. 

Professionally, it had been a banner year for him and the Q-Branch crew. A global lockdown made physical spy work even more challenging than ever, which meant the government turned to his Shadow Network as the main means of espionage, increasing the UK's dependency on their services. Their work was finally getting the recognition it deserved - though that came with both perks and pitfalls. 

Q twists the ring on his left hand contemplatively, and this was new too... a bit of a non-shocker, shocker if there was such a thing. After years of tip-toeing around each other, how did the bastard finally ask him? 

_\----_

_Flashback…_

Bond had slid the box under his nose along with his lunch in the cafeteria one perfectly normal day earlier in the year. Not a single word was exchanged about it - the asshole didn’t even break his diatribe about his latest disagreement with M or the direction that the Foreign Office was taking regarding some mission or other. 

And Q? He’d resolutely ignored the box until his lunch was done, thinking it was another one of the agent’s antics. How many times had Bond deliberately sent tongues wagging around MI6 with this stupid tease. The first time Bond pulled this trick, Q had to quickly quell his shaking hands lest he shows any signs of weakness - only to find the box contained a single cuff-link, a Q-Branch issued cuff-link to be exact, its twin lost somewhere to the back streets of Morocco months ago.

He’d nearly lost the round of “Fluster the Quartermaster” then. When he’d collected himself, he’d looked up to see the insufferable smirk on the agent’s face that told him Bond caught his wobble, but was magnanimous enough to let him go this time. The agent’s self-satisfied jaunt out of Q-Branch made him want to lob the box at the back of his head or shoot him. What had Eve said about shooting him? Everyone tries; at least once… Q couldn’t agree more. 

Well, if he insisted on carrying on with this theme, he could at least find a more imaginative way of doing it. The black velvet box sat there, in the corner of his tray - plain for everyone to see. And because MI6 was filled with people whose primary occupation was to be nosey, oh did they take notice alright. 

It was a new box, he’d given Bond that. Dark purple, almost black - not the antique black leather one that he’d reused so often. Q would usually chuck the thing into the back of his desk drawer after an attempt and it would disappear days later. Every time he tells himself, one day he’ll finally have enough and drop it in the incinerator. 

Well, older and wiser now, Q had refused to take the bait. If James could play nonchalance, so could he. The cafeteria crowd played the game too, carrying about their lunch, but Q caught their curious surreptitious glances in his peripheral vision. It felt like everyone was jostling for a table closer to theirs. 

And Bond just kept nattering on about work and they had carried on the conversation just like always. 

It wasn’t until lunch was done and they really ought to have been heading back to their respective departments that there was an unusual awkward pause. 

Bond refused to get up, not until Q had acknowledged the velvet box. And it seemed the entire cafeteria came to silent hush in anticipation. 

There was the briefest game of chicken as they held each other’s unreadable gaze. Q was of the mind that he would pocket the dammed box on his way to dispose of his lunch detritus; to be opened later in the relative privacy of his lab. But it seemed the other man was determined to make a game of it in public. Q had thought then that it must be a good one if Bond was this cock-sure; leaning back against his chair, arms crossed, barest of insouciant smiles playing on his lips. Every bit of his body language said, ‘go ahead, open it, I dare you.’ 

_Fuck him._

Q had refused to even arch a disparaging eyebrow at him. That would belie too much emotion and the judges around them might misattribute it as: on the edge of being flustered. Dammed if he was going to lose after all those years. 

He even held his nerve when Bond slid to the edge of his seat and made as if to get onto one knee, but instead detoured to retie the already immaculately tied laces of his expensive Italian dress shoes. The lunch crowd held a collective breath, noise level dropping to library standards. Q very nearly rolled his eyes at everyone in proximity - _Come on people! He’s pulled this one before. Tsk!_

Q had thought then; right, he was going to be late for his post-lunch meeting with GCHQ, let's get this over with. He had plucked the box from the corner of this tray and opened it unceremoniously. The rich satin dark purple interior was a surprise, the contrasting brilliantly set diamond eternity might-be-rings that sat in the middle of the box even more of a shock. 

If it turned out to be a USB-drive gag gift, he’d shoot the man later. With the experimental ice bullet, he was developing. There would be no evidence. 

His options then were, A) Pocket the box and leave. But that would mean consenting defeat, withdrawing from the challenge. Or B) Acknowledge the gift without acknowledging he was acknowledging it…. convoluted were the rules of the game. 

The stones caught the overhead light in the cafeteria and reflected the light with an unexpectedly brilliant fire. If they were a gag gift, they were excellently made. 

He went with option B, pulling it off to the best of his abilities considering his heart was inexplicably hammering his chest as if he wasn’t already living with the bastard. Q extracted one of the rings quickly (taking a guess at which was his size) from its satin nest, surprised again that it was an actual ring and wasn’t glued to the box or something equally ridiculous. The moment was augmented by the clatter of dropped cutlery by someone a few tables away. 

In a smooth motion, he’d slipped the ring on and snapped the box shut - as if it were all perfectly predictable; as if he had no doubts whatsoever from the moment he opened the box. Then swept up this tray, whilst managing to toss the box back at Bond who caught it deftly out of the air.

“Right, I’ll see you at 5,” he had casually told the most insufferable man in the world and left for his meeting. 

—

_Bonus: Bond’s POV_

Bond watched the quartermaster leave, unruly hair bouncing with his gait. He let a smile form on his lips. 

He waited until Q got in the lift before opening the box again. The remaining ring shone brilliantly up at him. He put it on without fanfare, like putting cufflinks on during his morning dress. 

It was his turn to collect his tray and leave. Did he win or lose this round? Q called his dare and pulled it off - so that would mean Bond lost… right? He didn’t feel like a loser, quite the contrary. Maybe this time there were no losers… said the loser.

He swept an arched eyebrow around his stunned audience, as if asking _\- what do you guys think?_

You could hear a pin drop. 

Bond shrugged to himself and left. It wasn’t until he was in the lift that he caught his reflection in the polished metal surface. He was pink to the tips of his ears, the intense blue of his eyes surprising even himself and the sincerest of good-natured smiles he ever did smile around HQ plastered to his normally world-weary mug. 

Behind him, two other occupants of the lift scooted further away. His uncharacteristic expression giving cause for alarm to those who were not witness to the earlier event. 

He cleared his throat mildly, doing his best to school his expression back to a semblance of normalcy. His reflection told him it was a lost cause - the corners of his mouth kept creeping upwards out of their own accord.

—— End ———


End file.
